Sick of Shadows
by Rhapsody Blues
Summary: And moving through a mirror clear, that hangs before her all the year, shadows of the world appear." A retelling of several scenes from AGATB through the eyes of Pippa Cross. Possible Fippa.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything related to The Gemma Doyle Trilogy. If I did, it would be the Thomas Doyle Trilogy anyway ;D But yeah, Ms. Brays owns it all.

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**Sick of Shadows**

Chapter One

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I can feel the strong wooden base of the rowboat beneath the thick folds of my dress, and for a brief instance I feel the nagging urge to forgo the common practices of society so that I might dip my weary ankles in the refreshingly chilled waters below. But given the fact that I am a lady and expected to act as such, just admiring the sparkling depths from a safe distance will have to suffice for the time being. I promptly lean over so that my elbows are resting along the short bit of plank that makes up the starboard side, before taking in the sight that greets me with a practiced eye.

Over the years, it has been made apparent to me that one of the only laudable traits I possess is that of my appearance. One with a little more pride than me might protest such accusations, but I know them to be true. I am not as intelligent as the other girls of my year, nor do I have their talents. My dancing and singing abilities are average at best, and even then there is no way I'd ever be invited to perform at a ball or tea. I am simply unremarkable in those aspects.

But even though I consider myself to be mentally disengaging, I am physically remarkable. This I cannot deny, no matter how much modesty exhorts me. As I stare into the bluish gray reflection presented on the lake water—at an image of high cheek bones, ivory skin, and the most startling set of violet eyes—there is no doubt in my mind that there is no face more appealing in all of existence. I can take some pride in this knowledge, at the very least. It is the one thing I have to hold onto.

I do not know how long I sit scrutinizing my reflection, but when I feel the sudden pressure of arms looping around my waist, my reverie is broken and I am brought back to the real world. It is the world of Spence Academy, the world where we are constantly judged by how well we dance and curtsy and paint. It is a cruel world, but the one I was brought up in nonetheless. I have learned through trial and error that there is no gain in this place without obedience. A girl can't just think and do as she pleases.

"Gazing into the water again are we, _Mademoiselle Narcissist_? Your looks haven't changed much in the fifteen minutes since you last checked them, you know."

I turn around to lock eyes with Felicity Worthington, whose piercing gray orbs are enough to distract me from the water's surface for a moment. Her irises are opaque and striking, like two storm clouds threatening rain. I half-expect lightning to shoot right out of her sockets when she's in a foul mood. Fortunately, she seems lighthearted today. It might be the sun or the fact that afternoon classes have been cut short, though it is impossible to tell with her. Despite knowing her for so long, she never ceases to be a mystery. In a way, my shallowness keeps us balanced in that respect. I can be read as easily as a book while she reveals nothing.

"Oh, Fee!" I admonish, fully aware that her sudden movement has caused the boat to rock. I swat at her hands until she eventually loosens her grip, though the grin doesn't falter from her lips. She's got another scheme brewing, that much is for certain, and chances are I probably won't like it. "I'd rather not go for a swim today, if that's alright with you."

"Where's your sense of adventure, Pip?" she asks, moving toward the opposite end of the boat on the left-hand side, so that our weight is evenly distributed. The boat has ceased its rocking, but I don't loosen my grip on the railing. "We could always blame our falling into the lake on misfortune. Surely Brigid would let us off under that pretense. She believes in all that superstitious poppycock, after all." Felicity rolls her eyes at this, evincing her opinion on the subject, while I chance a look at our current chaperone. The old housekeeper is far too engrossed in a game of lawn tennis several of the younger students are playing a few meters away. They're completely ignoring the rules and have resorted to simply swatting at each other with the rackets. By her stern countenance, it appears the old crone is set on restoring order to the game. In that case Felicity's alibi would be solid, as there would be no witnesses save for us.

"I suppose a quick dip _would_ be nice," I concede, though my tone still wavers with uncertainty. I am torn between my aversion to disobeying the rules and my desire to enjoy a swim in the lake with Fee. The sultry weather has gotten the best of me though, it seems. Even for England the climate is unusually warm, and I realize that I actually would like to go for a swim. Or maybe I've just grown accustomed to taking orders from Felicity. Either way, I find myself agreeing with her. I tug at my collar. "It is rather humid, after all."

Felicity's smile broadens, and it's obvious she's pleased by my response. This is just the sort of display for which she lives—for what better way to monopolize everyone's attention than by having two girls "fall" into the lake? It would surely be the story of the day. I rise from where I'm kneeling on the boat, ready to follow her instructions. "Alright then," she says. "We've both got to stand on the same side of the boat, you know, to distort the balance?" She crosses over to my side and the boat begins to rise up on the left, but it is not enough to tip it completely. She takes a dainty step forward, testing the effect of her weight. The port side lifts up a few more centimeters, and her curious look shifts to one of satisfaction. "Alright Pip, on my count, we're going to jump toward each other. Try to put as much force as you can into it since you're a bit of a lightweight." She chuckles at this. I bristle at her comment though, enraged by her obvious hypocrisy. Fee is nearly as thin as I am.

"One…" She begins, and I crouch down low, ready to jump. "Two…" I swing back my arms, hoping to scrounge up that extra bit of force Fee had been blithering on about. "Three!" At this we both leap towards each other, landing less than a meter apart. There is a loud "thud" as we connect with the floor, before the left side of the boat rockets into the air, far higher than it had reached during our previous attempt. I have little time to admire our success though, as next thing I know, I am falling headfirst into the lake below. The water welcomes me with icy arms, and I am swallowed whole by its murky depths. I can feel my limbs cramping up at the frigidity, which certainly does not match the temperature of the air. Had I not known any better, I would've assumed it was the heart of winter and not a sweltering August afternoon.

Already through with the impromptu swim, I kick my way to the surface, eager to relieve myself of the cold. A little ways ahead of me, there is another splash and a head of dark blonde hair emerges in the same fashion as I had. Felicity spares a glance in my direction, most likely assessing my opinion of what we have just accomplished. I'm about to voice my displeasure when I notice the look on her face. It's obvious she's enjoyed the event far more than I have, and I'm not about to sully her radiant mood by complaining. I just hope she'll remember my compliance next time Cecily tries to curry favor with her.

"The water's brilliant!" she calls, lying on her back as she floats. The pins in her hair have been claimed by the water, and her golden locks fan out beneath her. She is the epitome of ease right now, and a part of me resents her for it. She's always the one who gets the most enjoyment out of these sorts of things, while all I get is a few more regrets to tack onto an already lengthy list.

By now, some of the younger students have caught sight of us, and are hollering from the bank. In a split second, Fee transforms from the portrait of calm into a screaming banshee. Her acting is brilliant, and is enough to convince the frantic witnesses that our fall was an accident. I join in on the display and do some screeching of my own, while Brigid rushes in to pull us out. We manage to swim far enough in so that we can stand, and from there we are pulled out by the arms and onto the grassy bank. My breathing is labored as I settle down into the lush emerald blades, and all my previous resentment is now directed to my corset. If it weren't for the bloody thing I wouldn't have so much trouble breathing. It makes anything involving exertion right near impossible.

"Oh, thank you Brigid!" Fee cries, placing the back of her hand against her forehead as though she might faint any second. I try to hide my amusement, though I can't help but allow a small smile to claim my lips. "If it weren't for you we might very well have drowned!" She lays it on nice and thick, sounding the way she always does when she's trying to placate an adult.

Brigid turns to one of the younger girls and barks, "Wot you doin' standing 'round like that? Go and fetch a blanket or somethin'!" At this, the girl dashes off toward the school, looking as though she's just seen a ghost. Brigid can be quite intimidating when you don't know her all that well, and even then she's still formidable. "Now wot happened to you lot? Miss Cross, care to explain?"

I blink, not having expected to be directly addressed. Usually Felicity does all the talking, so I'm a bit surprised to have to suddenly be the one giving all the answers. I'm not very good at thinking on my feet.

Fortunately my body takes over for a moment as my teeth begin to chatter, distorting my response so that it comes out like, "Boat. Tipped. Fell. Accident." It's not much of a reply, but Brigid seems to get the gist of what I'm trying to say. I wait apprehensively for her to say something, hoping she'll take the bait.

She does. "I've been warnin' Mrs. Nightwing about lettin' you girls go off in dem boats, but does she ever listen to your ol' Brigid? No she does not." Brigid rests her meaty hands on her hips, removing them only when the girl from before returns with some blankets. Felicity and I are each given several, and we wrap ourselves like mummies in them. My teeth have ceased their chattering by now, and I mentally thank the warmth of the sun. If this had actually been winter, I would've surely taken ill by now.

"Well, we best get you ladies back to your room," Brigid announces, and neither of us protest. "Tha's enuff fun fer one day, I should think." She leads us up to the main gate area, and we take our leave there. Brigid has to return to tending the flock, just in case our contemporaries decide to try and emulate our stunt. Though I doubt anyone would have the gall to do so. Only Felicity is brazen enough to attempt something like that.

"Well that was a jolly time," Felicity says as we walk along the winding path that leads to Spence. I can make out the massive gothic structure just ahead, with its twisting spires and gargoyle-laden towers. I should be immune to their stony gazes by now, but the sight of them still fills me with dread each time I look up there. I try not to shudder as we pass below them and into the main hall. "And to think we didn't even have to pay a visit to Nightwing!"

"And exactly what sort of action would merit court with me, Miss Worthington?" Both of us stop dead in our tracks, loathing the imperious tone coming from behind. I turn around only to come face to face with the headmistress herself—Mrs. Nightwing. Her obsidian dress matches the shade of my sopping hair, though the fashion of it is long outdated. Actually, I don't recall such attire as ever having been fashionable. It's a pity what happens to spinsters. They're so sheltered.

Felicity is reeling, though it doesn't take her long to ground herself. She puts on the charm once more and says, "Oh, Mrs. Nightwing, fancy meeting you here. Lovely weather today, wouldn't you agree?" She makes a sweeping gesture toward the large glass windows and the sunny view depicted there. She is all smiles as she gazes at our headmistress with false admiration, though I hope I'm the only one to recognize it as such.

"Lovely weather for freckles, if that's what you are implying," Mrs. Nightwing responds rather tersely. She appraises our current soggy state and narrows her eyes a bit. "But those facts aside, you still have yet to explain why the both of you are soaked from head to toe." I hug my blanket close, as if that might make me appear less disheveled.

"Oh…right," Felicity says, undaunted. "We had a bad run in with the lake, as you can see—nothing to be too concerned with, though. We're both fine, aren't we Miss Cross?" At this she turns to me, her eyes urging me to agree. I nod my head, though I'm a bit perturbed by her formality. I'm not used to being called 'Miss Cross' in Fee's presence, and I rather dislike hearing it from her. In fact, the only time I ever hear anyone call me that is when something is being asked of me—or rather, I'm being ordered to do something. _'Sit still, Miss Cross. Be sure to eat your vegetables, Miss Cross. Patience is key, Miss Cross.'_ I've come to loathe the sound of it.

"The boat tipped" is all I can offer to the conversation. Mrs. Nightwing regards me with a bemused expression, as though I'm a talking monkey or something. I've never felt more insulted by a single look in my life. So my stories may not be as eloquent as Fee's, and maybe I'm not the brightest girl of our year, but I do have a voice, haven't I? So exactly why should people act so peculiar when they hear it? I shall have to make it my objective to speak up more often, if only to abolish the idea that I am a complete imbecile.

Mrs. Nightwing doesn't speak for a while, but her eyes bore into me, as if she can see right through my poorly constructed lies. But she eventually sighs, her shoulders falling from that pin-straight posture for a second as she realizes she's fighting a losing battle. Fee scents an easy victory, and her cloudy eyes brighten at the prospect. "Well I suppose you might as well continue on to where you were headed—though I warn you that next time there will be a chaperone meticulously surveying the shoreline. You have my word." She lets us leave on this threatening note, and we continue our way up the stairs as she watches our departure with the same measuring glance. Felicity may have won the heart of every other instructor at Spence, but such trite, charismatic speeches won't so easily win over our deportation teacher. I remind her of this during our ascent.

"Honestly Pippa," Felicity chides. "We have old Nightwing in the palm of our hands. She just needs to remember her place, as all." She hardly seems as put-off by the situation as I am. It might be because I hate lying, though, whereas Felicity lives for it. She's always told me that the truth is never as much fun to tell, and perhaps she is right. That's why people always believe gossip over fact, she says. Why live in reality when you can choose to dream?

"Here we are," Felicity says as she pushes open the entrance to our room. It is one of the nicest dormitories in the school, with an astounding view of the front lawns at the north end of it. It has been my home away from home for the past several years, though I've recently grown more accustomed to it than I have my original residence. It is so much easier living with Fee. She is clever and charming, and asks little of me, unlike my belligerent mother. Felicity doesn't make me sit for hours on end as she runs a brush through my hair exactly two hundred and seventy-three times. Felicity doesn't believe in superstitions, so she would have no need to, anyway.

Eager to get rid of my dripping uniform, I step behind the dressing wall, draping a fresh set of clothes over the side so that it hangs waiting as I undress. Fee abandons all modesty in our inner sanctum and simply strips down where she stands. Years of practice have made me self-sufficient when it comes to undoing the laces of my corset, and my long arms greatly expedite the mission. I take a moment to just inhale, knowing that in a few moments I'll be all cinched up again and unable to breathe. I bask in the crisp scent of crushed roses, which is the primary incense we like to maintain in our room. Every now and then we'll switch to something like jasmine or lavender, though secretly this is my favorite. I believe it to be Felicity's, too, though she says that it's simply the preferred scent in Paris. She greatly admires French culture, though I know she's never actually been there. Her mother supposedly lives there with an artist—the scandal of it—though I can't be sure she isn't just making up another story. It's not like her mother has ever sent her anything during the time I've known her.

"You decent yet?" I ask as I finish buttoning up my dress. I can hear her derisive snort despite the thick bit of wall separating the two of us.

"Yes," Fee supplies, her tone mocking. "Though I don't see why it matters all that much. It's not as though men ever exercise modesty with their cohorts."

"Well it's a good thing I'm not a man, then," I say, by way of a response. I step out from my changing area to find Felicity pinning her hair back into place at the vanity. I chance a look at myself in the large mirror situated there, and Felicity's gaze meets mine in the reflection.

"You're doing it again," she deadpans.

"What?" Ignorance is usually the best response when I've been caught appraising myself. I pull at the pins in my wet hair nervously, liberating the ringlets contained there.

"You know very well what I'm referring to, Pippa Cross." And that seems to be all the clarification she's willing to give. Her expression is somber and disapproving, and I know that she sees right through me. "You're so obsessed with your appearance that you can't even dip your fingers in the Holy water at vespers without taking a moment to evaluate your reflection in it."

I should feel insulted by her cutting words, but I know she's being truthful. With all the talk my parents have been making of suitors and marriage, I've developed a sort of crippling paranoia. My beauty has always been my strength; if I were to somehow lose it because of carelessness, there would be no chance of me ever having a suitable marriage. Especially not with an affliction like mine.

I banish the thought instantly, for I know that Fee will sense my anguish if I let it show on my countenance. Some things aren't meant to be shared, even between the closest of friends. I am sure she has her secrets, too.

"Fee," I say, because it's the only thing I can think of at the moment. "I'm just a little worried, that's all. You know how often my parents have been sending me on calls with potential suitors. I should hate to think that I will have to marry one of them someday." I wrinkle my nose at the thought. Fee knows very well the likes of men that have made appearances at my family's house. Most of them are old, even more so than my own father. I should hate to be tied down to one of them, even though they have the wealth my parents so desperately desire. As a merchant's daughter, that should be my first priority, but if I was being completely honest with myself, I'd want to marry on the sole basis of love. Business deals should not be forged at the expense of a young girl's heart.

"Well you can stop worrying, Pip," Fee assures me in that incredibly blasé way of hers. She can act so detached about certain things, especially when complimenting others. "You are beautiful and will remain so until you're a withered old woman. Finding a willing husband should be the least of your concerns right now." She winks at me in the mirror, a familiar smirk curving up the corners of her lips, and the composed mask she once wore has now dissolved. "You should be more worried about your gavotte. Need I remind you you stepped on my toes at least three times last class? At this rate, I'll be dancing on peg legs by the time we begin the waltz." Her laughter is like music, and I can't help but join her despite the slight. It's clear she doesn't fully understand my plight, though; I know there are willing suitors—they're just not the sort that I'd want as a husband. But I can't expect someone like Felicity to understand that. She's already well-respected in the community, being the only daughter of the famous Admiral Worthington. And even despite her mother's supposed disgraceful behavior, people are willing to overlook her actions because of their love for the Admiral. From what I've heard, their love is properly bestowed. Felicity has a tendency to brag about him at whatever chance she gets, though there's always a strange tone to her voice when she does. It's like a quavering child's, almost. But whenever I bring this up with her she always brushes me off and leaves me for the likes of Cecily Temple and Elizabeth Poole, so I've stopped asking.

I respond to her wryly, arching my brow. "I suppose we should just remove the mirror in favor of a record player, if that's the case. I'd hate to see you with tree limbs for feet; imagine how odd it would be if someone were to accidentally spy your ankles!" I take a seat on my bed, which is an identical piece to Felicity's. Unlike those in the lesser students rooms, our bed frames our crafted from mahogany in lieu of iron, with pillows of down as well. No wonder so many of our peers envy us. We are like queens among commoners.

Felicity sits down beside me and reclines so that she's in a lying position. Her hazy eyes drift toward the large window, and mine follow suit. More time has passed than I thought; the warm colors of twilight have already touched the sky and the sun has fallen low on the horizon. It's almost time for vespers, I realize with an inward sigh. "We should head down to the parlor," I announce, not even bothering to veil my distaste.

"We could always just stay here," Felicity says softly, and for a moment I wonder if she is merely musing aloud. But then her gaze locks with my mine and she continues on in a stronger voice. "Who would miss two girls out of fifty?"

"No one," I say, though there's no chance I'd skip vespers with her. Unlike Fee, I don't have a high enough status to escape punishment, nor have I her way with words. "But when one of the two said girls is _the_ Miss Felicity Worthington, someone's bound to notice. What would Cecily do if her best friend decided to ditch vespers without her?"

"Oh, right. Almost forgot about darling Cecily. Poor girl would be a wreck without me there to guide her." She lets out a snort, and I can't help but take comfort from her cutting words. It's good to be Fee's closest companion. If Cecily ever found out about all the things Fee's confided in me, she'd probably want to have me murdered—not to mention she'd lose all respect she has for her present idol. There's a certain power that comes with being the favorite.

"That she would," I say, and to get her moving I add, "Well it would be rude of us to keep her waiting." Fee nods and gathers herself up, and together we leave the room.

When we arrive at the parlor, there is something different about the room. A sort of charge is in the air that has all the girls buzzing, huddled together in close groups. Fee and I exchange curious glances before spotting Cecily, Elizabeth, and Martha all chatting away over by the fireplace. We join them and it takes no more than a second for Cecily to start fawning over Fee.

"Darling Fee!" she says, welcoming her with a loose embrace. I stifle a laugh at the expression on Fee's face: it's a cross between absolute disgust and a desire to do the girl harm. Though being the charmer that she is, Fee wastes no time voicing her opinion on Cecily. Cecily offers me no hug, only a withering glance. I return the favor with one of my own, glaring sharp violet daggers at her from where I stand flanked by Martha and Elizabeth. They greet me with quiet 'how do you do's; it's apparent that Cecily has already warned them of me, but common courtesy urges them to be polite anyway.

"Have you heard the news?" Cecily continues, her question aimed at Felicity. She barely spares me a passing glance.

Felicity looks genuinely surprised, to say the least. She usually knows everything that's going on in Spence's halls, so to be caught unawares is not something she particularly enjoys. She arches a pale brow, her eyes narrowing. "What sort of news?" she inquires.

Cecily gives the room a once-over, checking to see if any of the younger girls are eavesdropping. Their all too wrapped up in their own private conversations to notice us. She lowers her voice regardless. "Rumor has it there's a new girl. Just arrived in from—get this—India!" Her eyes grow bright, and it's clear that she hopes this bit of information will be valuable to Fee.

"There's an Indian among us?" Felicity clarifies, glancing about the room as well. When she finds nothing out of place, she returns her eyes to Cecily. Her expression is unreadable, but there was a particular sense of distaste in her tone when she asked the question. Foreigners are all the same to us—lower on the social hierarchy and very good maids. Even I, the merchant's daughter, think little of them. "You must be joking, Cecily. You've been reading too many half-pence novels, methinks." At this we all share a laugh at dear Cecily's expense. Her dark eyes well up as though she might cry from our cruelty.

"It's true!" Cecily pleads, though we are deaf to her whining. "I'm sure it is, I—"

Her words are cut off by the sudden appearance of Mrs. Nightwing at the front of the room. "Girls," she says, drawing our attention away from our companions. "I'd like you to meet the newest student of Spence Academy. This is Gemma Doyle. Miss Doyle is joining us from Shropshire and will be in first class." We all look to the front of the room where a girl about my age stands awkwardly, her strawberry locks making her easy to spot.

I take a moment to size her up; she's on the tall side, and despite the large distance between us I can see the freckles dotting her nose. It seems _someone_ forgot to bring her parasol while out strolling through the pleasant parks of Shropshire. Although I've never heard much of the place, I know it well enough to realize that it is obviously not an Indian location, thus disproving Cecily's earlier statement. She was probably just trying to appease Fee.

"What was that about Shropshire?" Martha brings up, glancing toward Cecily who looks at the floor. She sniggers at the realization, and once again Cecily is made fodder to our humor. Our muffled giggles are cut short as Mrs. Nightwing continues on about the new girl.

"She has spent most of her life in India, and I'm sure she would be happy to tell you stories of their many quaint customs and habits. I trust you'll show her a proper Spence welcome and acquaint her with the way things are done here at Spence." At this Cecily smiles in triumph, all previous doubt assuaged. She looks to Fee for recognition, but Felicity is too busy staring at the new girl to notice.

I feel my stomach drop at the way Felicity's scrutinizing her. It's the same way she first looked at me when I joined the first class roster. It is curiosity melded with equal parts fascination. Her head is cocked to the side as if, from a different angle, this Gemma Doyle might possibly be more interesting than she looks from straight up. I know my jealousy is unwarranted—Fee's had yet to speak one word to the girl, and already I'm assuming that I'm going to be replaced. I know Felicity holds many a passing fancies, but surely she wouldn't forget about me, would she? Not after everything we've been through over the years. It'd be terrible to be made aware that I'm no more important to her than someone like Cecily Temple.

But as I am contemplating this, Fee shakes her head and yawns. I know this to be one of her intentional snubs, and am greatly relieved by it. It seems Fee is merely trying to make it clear to the girl that she is the reigning queen. And by the look on Gemma's face she's received the message loud and clear. I can't help but smile and wonder why I was worrying in the first place. It was silly of me to ever consider my friendship with Felicity as fleeting.

And yet still I feel this hollowing sense of dread as I notice her gaze flicker over to Gemma every now and then as we make our way to vespers. Even the cloak of night cannot disguise her curiosity from me. My heart sinks a little with each peripheral glance she makes.

I can only hope that like Cecily, Gemma's only use will be to provide us with some entertainment.

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A/N: Thus ends the first chappie of my first AGATB fic. If you couldn't tell by now it's a retelling-ish of the first novel from Pippa's point of view. Comments and critiques would be greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading luvs!


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